


A Touch of Hell

by JSheets716



Category: Welcome to Hell - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-04
Updated: 2017-05-04
Packaged: 2018-10-27 21:06:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10816767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JSheets716/pseuds/JSheets716
Summary: Sock Sowachowski didn't miss much about being alive. Or at least, he thought he didn't. But what if he was wrong?





	A Touch of Hell

Sock had been watching Jonathan, observing as the teen absentmindedly bobbed his head along to the music, the purple wire of his seemingly massive purple headphones dancing in time with his movements, swaying back and forth. Sock could faintly hear the traces of sound blaring through the headphones. Music. Specifically Valhalla Soundbox. The latest album. Or was it the first? Sock wasn’t quite sure. He could never tell. Despite months of haunting Jonathan, he hadn’t quite learned the teen’s music tastes yet. He scowled at the teen with his stupid headphones, feeling offended.

Offended because Jonathan had decided that he had heard enough of Sock’s usual diatribes for the afternoon, and had retreated into his personal solace. And he had effectively shut Sock out, a strategy that had been working for the past two weeks with success, much to Sock’s chagrin. It meant Jonathan had a way of making his job more difficult. Jon had a way of avoiding him. Above all else, it _annoyed_ Sock, which simply wasn’t fair. He was the annoyer, not the other way around. But just as Jonathan craved to be alone and unbothered, Sock found that he was the opposite. The demon loved attention, even if the most Jonathan could do was gripe and bemoan his presence.

Sock ran through the list of collective tactics he had tried throughout the past two weeks. He had tried taking the headphones and Jon’s phone on multiple occassions. Unfortunately, he just phased through them, completely intangible. Which, while frustrating, made sense. If he could manipulate solid objects, he would have picked up a knife and drove it into Jonathan’s chest by now. It would have certainly made it a lot easier for Mephistopheles to collect souls if his employees could go out and harvest the souls themselves.

_“But that ain’t how it’s done, kid.”_ his boss had told him once after two months had gone with absolutely no success on Sock’s part to convince his target to punch his own ticket.

_“Why not?”_ he asked, flatly, in return.

It was then that the dev… Mephistopheles had smiled so widely, revealing a set of perfect white teeth that glinted with a rather unnerving sheen. Thinking back, Sock wasn’t sure whether or not Mephistopheles’s yellow eyes seemed to burn with an intense gold brightness or if it was his imagination. Either way, they practically shone when his boss uttered his next sentence:

_“Cause you’re in_ **_Hell_ ** _too, Sowachowski. Everybody’s gotta suffer.”_

And suffering Sock was. Being unable to touch anything, or anyone, had become a real nightmare. It hadn’t quite bothered him at first. Not until he had tried to steal Jonathan’s lunch out of his locker one afternoon about a month into his job. Yet another attempt to rile the teen. The plan had been going smoothly at first. Being transparent made Jonathan’s lock null and void. But when his fingers kept slipping through the brown bag of food Jonathan had hastily packed (PB&J, no doubt) was when Sock became irate. His attempts to steal Jonathan’s sandwich out of his hands later that day had been to no avail as well. Rather, it was one of the first times he had gotten a laugh out of Jonathan. Apparently, seeing Sock annoyed was just as funny to Jonathan as the inverse was to Sock.

He tried not thinking about Jonathan’s stupid laugh. The way he chuckled to himself or bursted out laughing was stupidly infectious and made Sock want to laugh too, even though he didn't understand why because there was nothing to laugh at. It made his stomach feel strange, in a way he hadn't experienced since he was alive. He hadn't felt that rush of excitement since he had killed his first squirrel. Sock wasn't sure he liked the feeling. Usually, he was used to feeling frustration when dealing with Jonathan. Or fear when dealing with Mephistopheles, especially when his eyes decided to ominously glow as they sometimes did. But this made him fearful and nervous in an entirely different way. And all because Jon decided to laugh.

Sock couldn’t help but want to wring his neck every time he had made the sound. At least, he _WOULD_ ring Jon’s neck, if he could only get his hands around it. He decided to make an impulsive pass for it, and launched himself forward. But his hands floated right through, which in turned caused a cold shiver to travel down Jon’s spine. Jon stopped bobbing his head with the music, and looked up from his spot on the bed, not surprised to see the demon floating above him. The demon’s face was scrunched in concentration, his lips pursed together in frustration. Jon shivered again as he felt a phantom sensation around his throat. Yet another attempt from Sock at suffocation. And another resounding failure. Jon did his best not to react, however. He had learned that the less he encouraged with Sock, the less likely the demon was to try repeat performances of his annoying tricks in the future.

“You done?” Jon asked after the current song he was listening to ended. He hit the pause button on his phone to stop the music, chuckling slightly at the pout on Sock’s face, who seemed to get even more annoyed at his laugh.

“No. You’re still breathing.” Sock stated through grit teeth.

“What are you doing, anyway? You can’t touch me.” Jonathan reminded him, and Sock couldn’t help but notice the change in intonation in Jon’s voice. It was… almost _whimsical_ … It was mocking, and it grated on the ghost’s nerves.

“Doesn’t mean I’m not gonna try.” Sock retorted, doubling his efforts. Jonathan did his best to ignore the icy sensations coursing through his body at rapid speed, starting in his throat and traveling down to his toes.

“And you’re gonna fail. Because you suck at your job.” the apathetic teen reminded him, a go-to insult that still somehow managed to get under Sock’s skin no matter how much the demon heard it or how badly badly Sock tried to ignore it.

“You suck at YOUR JOB!” Sock yelled back. It wasn’t his best insult by any means, but it was all he could come up with on such short notice. Jonathan laughed again, and the sound rung in Sock’s ears. Sock made a few more pithy passes and grabs at the other teen’s throat in vain before letting out a frustrated groan of defeat.

Seeing Sock had decided to give up, Jon turned back on his music, though he didn't particularly focus on a particular song. Rather, he was glaring at Sock, taking his turn to study the demon, who floated above him, legs crossed in an Indian style sitting position. He was absentmindedly tugging at the flaps of his hat, watching as the hat moved by his grasp. Apparently, Sock’s inability to manipulate objects didn't translate to objects he had on his own person. Jon noted the sour expression that Sock was carrying around, not pleased with his latest failure. And, against Jonathan’s better judgment, he felt a sense of pity for the demon. It was brief, and it wasn't something he was proud of, but it was there.

“You're not bad at your job.” Jon grumbled. “But you can't kill me. The point is I kill myself, right?” Jon asked, bringing Sock back to his first conversation with his boss.

“Yeah.” Sock admitted, weakly.

“So it's moot anyway.”

A beat of silence passed between them, as Sock didn't counter the last claim.

“Not being able to grab stuff must suck, huh? Stuff that's not yours, I mean.” Jon wondered aloud. Sock seemed to notice he was fiddling with his hat flaps, as he stopped immediately and instead folded his hands. Sock nodded in agreement with Jonathan’s statement, but decided to add in his own stipulation:

“The worst part is I can't kill anything, though.”

_“Right”_ Jon thought. “ _The_ _whole_ _homicidal_ _tendency_ _thing_.”

It was easy to forget that Sock could be so macabre and dark and that he had actually had killed his parents. Easy because, for the most part, Sock was chipper and as friendly as a golden retriever most of the time. Because of this, Jon completely forgot that mere minutes ago, his ghost was trying to strangle the life out of him.

“What about, you know, not killing things? I mean don't you miss touching things? Eating?” Jon asked. Sock shrugged in reply. Killing things was still on the top of his list.

“Heat? Cold?” Jon had already noted Sock didn't get affected by temperatures. While Jon had practically turned into a popsickle waiting for the school bus, Sock hadn't even attempted to be bothered by the frigid winter, and had instead remained upbeat, which only further served to piss Combs off more. Sock would brag about how temperate and warm Hell was compared to being topside, as if fifty degrees was the only difference in keeping Jon alive.

Again Sock shook his head no. And that, for some reason, annoyed Jonathan. How could he not miss being alive? Sure, Jon would groan and say he hated living all he wanted, but he couldn't imagine going through what Sock was. He loved the sensation of being covered in his hoodie, or the delicious tastes of all the numerous sandwiches he'd eaten and the feeling of security he felt when his headphones were draped over his ears. He'd never understand the demon.

“Don't you miss anything else?” Jonathan asked. _“Your parents?”_ Jon had been tempted to venture, but he didn't dare, instead restraining himself. For some reason, that question fell out of bounds. Which was weird, because Jonathan hardly cared about the demon at all. Especially when Sock was annoying, which was a good eighty percent of the time.

“Nah. And besides, I'm solid in Hell. So whatever I can't do here, I can just do down there.” He reasoned. And Jon supposed that was true. But with Sock’s work schedule, stuck eight hours a day without the ability to touch, or feel, seemed very sad to him. He heard Sock blathering about more positives of Hell, but Jon didn't register them. Instead he was picturing poor, lonely Sock, without any sort of physical affection. Before he realized it, Jon had reached up and grabbed Sock’s leg.

Sock suddenly felt a warm rush of fire travel from his leg to his chest, the entire sensation warming him for the first time since he had been topside. Jonathan had never touched him before, and he was surprised at just how solid Jonathan’s hand felt as it was lightly grasped in his leg, and he glanced down at it, looking at the way the fingers curled around his ripped jeans. More warm sensations, and a curious look was on Jonathan’s face. Clearly, he wasn't expecting to be able to touch Sock either.

Sock’s eyes met his for a moment, the two sharing a look of registration and surprise, and Sock noticed just how dark of a blue Jon’s eyes were. They looked about as cold as Jon pretended to be, but in this moment of confusion and vulnerability there was a certain softness to them. The warmth in Sock’s chest traveled to his cheeks, and he could feel them burning as he looked back at Jon. But Sock didn't get to look long before realization kicked in.

Jonathan immediately pulled away, and his cheeks filled with a reddish fire, the same one that had enveloped Sock at Jon’s touch. But as Jonathan’s redness grew, the warm feeling from Jonathan’s touch began to fade. And within seconds, it was gone.

Neither one spoke for the rest of Sock’s day, and when five o’clock came, he was gone. But as he traveled back to Hell, he still felt a warm spasm as he thought of Jon’s fingers landing on his leg, and he couldn't help but remember the words of his boss:

_“Cause you're in_ **_Hell_ ** _too, Sowachowski. Everybody’s gotta suffer.”_


End file.
